Bottom Live: The Big Number 2 Tour Page #4

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RICHIE:

Now look, i've got some chlorette, east of Java, Chernobyl-o foam here. Yeah, that should do the trick. Now, try not to inhale it, I brought it off an Iraqi.

(Eddie takes the lid off, and a noxious yellow gas emanates from it instantly.)

EDDIE:

Yes. On the, sort of... Ethnic end of the cleansing spectrum.

RICHIE:

Go on, get on with it.

EDDIE:

Right.

(Eddie exits through the right hand door, and turns right.)

EDDIE:

Right, here we go.

(The sound of Eddie pouring the Chernobyl-o foam down the toilet can be heard, followed by a tremendous explosion. Eddie stumbles backwards past the right hand door, with plumes of smoke flooding in through it.)

EDDIE:

Bloody nora.

(Richie doesn't seem to have noticed, he's too engrossed in the newspaper.)

EDDIE:

It's on the vigorous side, isn't it??

RICHIE:

And then, Eddie, at 12:20, The Queen accelerates down Mafeking Parade on her way out, right past the maisonette.

EDDIE:

The What?

RICHIE:

The Pomme-De-Terre

EDDIE:

What's that?

RICHIE:

Oh god, the Sty.

EDDIE:

OH, you mean the flat!

RICHIE:

Yes, the flat! Oh, god, what is the point? Honestly, it's like Oscar Wilde living with Hilda Ogden.

EDDIE:

Yeah, she must have had a tough time of it, living with that wanker.

RICHIE:

Now Eddie, that is when we set off the firework.

EDDIE:

Right.

RICHIE:

Now have you prepared the firework?

EDDIE:

What firework?

RICHIE:

THE FIREWORK FOR THE QUEEN!

EDDIE:

OH THAT'S WHAT IT'S FOR??

RICHIE:

Yes!

(Eddie laughs manically.)

EDDIE:

I, I thought we were just vaguely celebrating the fact that Oxford sounds a bit like “Do you want to come in my mouth.”

(Richie looks confused.)

EDDIE:

Yes, i've, i've got the firework right here, up my back passage.

(Eddie exits, mimicking a much longer fanfare.)

RICHIE:

(mouths) he's mad!

(Richie turns around and sees Eddie wheeling in a garishly patriotic firework, complete with union jacks sticking out of the grey lump. Eddie's fanfare comes to a climactic end.)

EDDIE:

That is my firework.

RICHIE:

Crikey o'trousers, Eddie, it certainly looks powerful enough. What does it actually do, this, this, this, this, this firework?

EDDIE:

Well, now, you see, what we do is, we press the plunger here.

RICHIE:

Yes.

EDDIE:

Right? And the firework...

RICHIE:

Yes?

EDDIE:

It flies out of the window.

RICHIE:

Out of the window.

EDDIE:

It flies out of the window.

RICHIE:

Out of the window.

EDDIE:

And then...

RICHIE:

Yes?

EDDIE:

Right, then.

RICHIE:

Yes? Yes?

EDDIE:

Then!

RICHIE:

Yes? Yes? Yes?

EDDIE:

THEN!

RICHIE:

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

(Richie whimpers as he ejaculates inside his trousers.)

EDDIE:

Then it's sort of into the realms of the unknown. Do you remember that space shuttle, “Challenger”?

RICHIE:

The one that, sort of, blew up?

EDDIE:

Yes, well, you see, now this has got the same sort of... “feel”.

RICHIE:

What, a sort of “whoosh” “Oh crikey” “KERBLAM!” feel?

EDDIE:

Yes, you see, I thought that that would attract the attention of the Queen. “what the f*** was that?”

RICHIE:

Well, I think you're bloody right, Eddie.

EDDIE:

Yeah.

RICHIE:

But what's the big, grey lump of sweaty stuff?

EDDIE:

Well, that's you, isn't it?

RICHIE:

Oh, right. So it is. No, no, no, but what's the other big, grey, sweaty lump?

EDDIE:

Well, that's me, isn't it?

RICHIE:

Alright, so we're both here, then.

RICHIE AND EDDIE:

Hooray.

RICHIE:

And, uh, what's this?

(Richie points to the grey lump adorned with union jacks.)

EDDIE:

Oh, that's the semtex.

(Richie is taken aback, and chuckles nervously.)

RICHIE:

The, er, what!?

EDDIE:

We both want a really good bang, don't we?

RICHIE:

Well, well i think that goes without saying, Eddie, but i'm trying to talk about explosives. I mean, isn't this... I mean, isn't...

(Richie fucks up his lines.)

EDDIE:

What?

RICHIE:

Bit of a f*** up here.

EDDIE:

Yes. Sounds like you've got a bit of a frog in your throat.

RICHIE:

Yes. I must stop giving blowj*bs to Charles (???).

EDDIE:

Yes.

(The audience claps.)

RICHIE:

Shh, f*** off, f*** off, go home.

(The plot resumes.)

RICHIE:

But, I mean, isn't, isn't semtex, sort of, vaguely illegal?

EDDIE:

Nah, nah, nah

RICHIE AND EDDIE:

Nah, nah.

EDDIE:

God bless you, nah. IT'S COMPLETELY ILLEGAL!

RICHIE:

SEXY! We are the Hammersmith hard men.

(Richie does a little end, and ends with jazz hands.)

RICHIE:

Where on earth did you get it?

EDDIE:

Car boot sale. Yeah, bit of a grut on the market since the ceasefire, you know? Got it off these two blokes, Michael O'Hooligan and Patricia O'Violence.

RICHIE:

ooh.

EDDIE:

And their friend was there... Pat O'Cake.

(Richie looks surprised. Eddie can't even look Richie in the eye.)

RICHIE:

Pat O'Cake?

(Eddie doesn't respond, and just looks down, sheepishly, grinning like a schoolboy. The audience claps.)

EDDIE:

(To audience) Shut the f*** up.

RICHIE:

Pat O'Cake?

EDDIE:

Pat O'Cake.

RICHIE:

Bakers man?

EDDIE:

That's the one, yes. God, I love that gag.

RICHIE:

What a sad, lonely life you must lead.

EDDIE:

I'm afraid it is, yes.

RICHIE:

Right, on with the plot, Eddie.

EDDIE:

Right you are. THERE'S A PLOT!?

RICHIE:

Yes.

EDDIE:

Ooh, f***. Right.

RICHIE:

Right, this is the plan? Eddie, are you listening?

EDDIE:

No!

RICHIE:

Good, saves time.

EDDIE:

Right

RICHIE:

Right. 12:
20, ok, 12:20, the Queen comes past. We set off the firework. BOOM! It explodes attractively, cascades of light. The Queen looks up “What the f*** was that?” She sees two slim, young, patriotic subjects. We look patriotic.

(Richie and Eddie do a Nazi salute, while using their other hand to make a Hitler mustache.)

RICHIE:

And then, we give her the old swagger.

EDDIE:

The old swagger!

RICHIE:

The old swagger!

(Richie and Eddie shake about with their pelvis sticking out, turn around, shake their arses, imitate milk shooting out of their nipples, and then a cumshot. The audience cheers.)

RICHIE:

Ha ha! Hey, we haven't lost it, have we, Eddie?

EDDIE:

Nah. Well, we never bloody found it in the first place, did we?

RICHIE:

That's true. “Crikey O'Blimey” shouts the Queen.

EDDIE:

Right?

RICHIE:

“Hit. The. Brakes!”

(Eddie imitates tyres screeching.)

RICHIE:

“I must go upstairs and have tea with those two young subjects immediately.”

EDDIE:

Right.

RICHIE:

So, up she comes. Diddly-Doo.

EDDIE:

Diddly-doo.

RICHIE:

Knighthoods, knighthoods. We become eligible bachelors around town, the birds come flocking round. Porky, porky, pork.

RICHIE AND EDDIE:

At last!

RICHIE:

Ensured, Ensured, never-ending, relentless BIRD-O-RAMA!

(Richie imagines a sexy horde of women getting rapid fired towards his face, as he flaps his hands in front of his face. Eddie imagines a horde of women all on top of him, as he wags his tongue lustfully, grabbing at many imaginary girls. He then pulls out an imaginary pube from his teeth.)

RICHIE:

So it's bye-bye Moby, I'll see you on the other side.

(he waves goodbye to his crotch.)

RICHIE:

Now, Eddie, have you got it looking spotless yet?

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